


Sleepy

by stardropdream



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 15:11:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11716947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: It's been a long day and Aramis is tired. (post-series)





	Sleepy

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to tumblr for the prompt, "Portamis + vv tired Aramis needing a nap."

It’s been a long week, really. Aramis can’t be blamed for this – it’s been a long series of war council meetings, domestic meetings, briefs with the queen, surveying the king’s new sword strategy (impeccable and perfect and flawless, of course!), and acting as a waypoint between all the opposing parties involved and, well—

Of course Aramis is exhausted. Today in particular is a warm day, as well, and when it’s a warm day, Aramis feels very much like stretching out in the sun and letting it wash over him (“Like a cat,” Porthos once teased him because he knew Aramis hates cats, and Aramis had tried to protest, which only meant that Porthos called him hissy, the traitor). 

He remembers a time, before all this, stripping off his shirt in the garrison and leaning back on the table, smiling as the sun kissed his face, not unlike one of his gentler, warmer lovers. 

Now, the Minister stripping down in the palace gardens would be considered utterly unbecoming and so he resists, although it’s difficult to do so. He does, however, feel slightly worse for Porthos, who’s here this entire week for the war council and is wearing most of his regalia still. At least he isn’t forced to wear his armor. Aramis can see the sweat at his temples. 

“Should we sit a moment?” Aramis asks, studying Porthos in profile. They’re just walking, nothing but purely innocent, trying to steal away some quiet time together before Porthos has to return to the front in a few days. Aramis’ heart already aches, as it always does when Porthos has to go away. 

He remembers a time, when they would spend every day together. That time feels so far away now, but it’s held precious in his heart. 

Porthos’ eyes slant over towards him, studying him for a long moment. Aramis tries to look very accommodating, a good host. Minister and General, perfectly in line with expectations. He isn’t thinking about finding an old grove of trees and hiding in their shadows with Porthos, if only so he can strip off his shirt and feel a little cooler – or warmer, pulling Porthos to him. Not that he’s letting himself think that too deeply for now. 

“Yeah, alright,” Porthos finally settles on, after he’s found whatever he’s looking for in Aramis’ face. 

Aramis smiles, about to find his way to one of the many benches that situate themselves in the queen’s garden, but instead Porthos moves off the path and just sits down in a grassy part, stretching out onto his back. It’s perfectly improper, but it isn’t as if Aramis has ever been really proper – he falls down beside him, lying out on his back and kicking his feet out. 

He instantly smiles, feeling far happier like this, the sun on his face, his hair tangled in the grass. 

Porthos is quiet beside him, just studying the clouds above their heads. Aramis watches them, too, and then his eyes start to feel fuzzy with sleepiness, so he turns his head to look at Porthos instead. 

“Kind of reminds me of before,” Porthos says after a long silence, and really, Aramis shouldn’t be surprised that Porthos was thinking of those same times, likely with that same fondness and longing, not without that touch of sadness. Porthos always was such a gentle heart. 

“Yes,” Aramis agrees. 

He turns a little, so he’s lying on his side and facing Porthos. Porthos turns his head to look at him, not looking sleepy at all, but perfectly alert. He smiles at Porthos, slow and sleepy and pleased. After a moment, Porthos smiles back. 

Aramis, content, does let himself close his eyes and let out a sigh, his shoulders slowly relaxing. It’s nice, being out here – in the sun, warmed, without the day’s responsibilities hanging over their heads. Warm, lying out, in the presence of someone he trusts instinctively and whole-heartedly. 

After a moment, Porthos starts to chuckle. Unable to open his eyes, Aramis lets out a soft, questioning hum and stretches out in the grass a little.

“You look like a cat,” Porthos chuckles, and whether he remembers this old insult or has just now thought of it, it doesn’t matter, because Aramis has never been so utterly betrayed in his entire life.


End file.
